


A Christmas Carol

by AirFireWaterEarth



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: A Christmas Carol AU, A lot of typos, Gets kinda angsty so hold on to your seats, M/M, Modern AU, Sorry but this was a lot of words for me, but it's all good after that, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirFireWaterEarth/pseuds/AirFireWaterEarth
Summary: Fushimi Saruhiko's life is just fine.This isn't something he actually believes, but he's reluctant to do anything to change it. After all, what's the point? The pursuit of happiness is futile.Until an ensemble of his dead father and the three Ghosts of Christmas (that look suspiciously alike to some people he knows) show Saruhiko exactly why he must change the way he looks at life.





	A Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> A few things I'd like to say before this starts: One, I know Christmas in Japan is more like a Valentine's Day. But I tried to make it more in the tone of A Christmas Carol so references to that aren't really in there. Second, this has a lot higher word count than I'm used to. It's 2 AM right now so please understand there are going to be some major typos. 
> 
> And lastly, really? No one wanted to make a Sarumi Christmas fic? Shame. :/

Saruhiko clicked away at his keyboard, barely taking a moment to look away and glance at the clock on the back wall. It was a half hour past midnight. He was the last one in the office. It usually wasn’t abnormal for someone to stay in the office so late, but tomorrow— tonight even— was a perceived ‘special holiday’, so Saruhiko had been alone since around eight. In all honesty, Saruhiko hated working overtime but the holidays were particularly busy so finishing up quickly was his top priority. 

Fushimi Saruhiko worked for a website security company. It played well enough and required less social maintenance to stay employed— he just needed to perform. His boss was… odd and his manger was a pain in the ass. Those were downs but overall Saruhiko’s life was alright. 

He heard footsteps approaching his desk. Saruhiko corrected his initial observation: there was one other person in the office. His insane boss. Saruhiko looked up at Munakata and drawled out a hello.

“I’ll be leaving now and I am sorry to inform you that you must as well.” Munakata tapped on the side of the computer screen. 

Saruhiko clicked his tongue and returned his attention to the screen.

“I can just lock up.” he replied.

As Saruhiko figured he would be, Munakata wasn’t convinced. He simply stood next to Saruhiko and waited. He let out a breath and put a pin in what needed to be finished. Then he shut down all of the equipment and grabbed his coat and phone. 

Saruhiko and Munakata made their ways to the parking lot. 

“No one to celebrate Christmas with I’m guessing?” Munakata mused.

Saruhiko huffed, “I could say the same for you.”

Munakata chuckled. “No, actually. They’re just working late tonight.”

Saruhiko hummed and decided to ignore the fact that this meant Munakata was specifically trying to point out how lonely he was. 

“I’m sure you’re aware, but the office won’t be open tomorrow. I will be biting the bullet and celebrating with the rather loud members in cafe HOMRA. I know you’ve been acquainted with them yourself. If you’d like to stop by the shop, you’re invited.”

Saruhiko tensed and grit his teeth together because quickening his pace.

“No. Thank you.” he responded, terse. 

Munakata acknowledged the response and allowed Saruhiko to walk on his own as they split directions. 

Saruhiko didn’t listen to the radio on the drive home; there were mostly obnoxious holiday songs on. 

It was an uncommon opinion to dislike Christmas. Not unshared, but definitely not by the majority. There were just so many irritatingly idiotic elements to the over hyped holiday. Like how people put too much religion into a drunken Pagan holiday. Or how people spent too much money and flocked stores to make it miserable for errand runners. Viewing on everything surged on every retail website. Criminal activity increased everywhere— including online. This made his job much more difficult. There was very little about Christmas Saruhiko liked. 

At least, since it was Christmas Eve, the streets were clear enough to get Saruhiko home in a preferable fifteen minutes in contrast to every other hour in the surrounding week.

Saruhiko unlocked the door to his apartment and took off his jacket and gloves. He cranked up the thermostat and threw a tv dinner in the microwave. After he was comfortable, he turned on the television— which, unfortunately, only had Christmas movies and episodes. He decided on an episode of a medical show since no matter how Christmas-y it got it was also mostly incorrect surgical terms. 

Suddenly, the screen on the television flickered in and out before shutting off, his lights following. He clicked his tongue in dismay. A power outage. He pulled out his phone to turn on the flashlight and got up to find the candles Awashima kept getting the office as gifts. He pulled out a cinnamon scented candle and riffled through the drawers to find a match or lighter. He opened up one of his overhead cabinets to check for a box of matches he swore he shoved next to the spices. 

Instead of closing it, he smacked his head into the corner of it with a yelp.

“You’ve grown up quite big for a monkey!” cooed someone. Someone who was definitely a rotting corpse being eaten by bugs, far underground.

Saruhiko rubbed his head and stared at the figure in a mixture of awe and horror. 

“Y-you are—“ Saruhiko croaked out.

“Dead?” Fushimi Niki cackled, “Pushing up daisies? Six feet under? Of course! But how can I stay dead when my monkey is here?“

Saruhiko couldn’t understand. How? How was he staring at his father, someone who had died nearly seven years ago?

“What are you doing here?” he said so low he might as well have whispered it.

Niki tilted his head and grinned, tapping his finger on his chin as if in thought.

“In life, I was here to play with my little monkey. Had quite a few brains if I’d say so myself. But nothing compared to the crocodile tears and anger of yours! That didn’t suit too well for the afterlife,” Niki glanced to his wrists that Saruhiko now noticed were cuffed to a chain that faded from his vision, “Feeding off of everyone else’s unhappiness and alcohol is a bit of a no-no down there.”

Saruhiko spat out, “You deserve it.”

Niki cackled and was suddenly a lot closer to Saruhiko’s face.

“Maybe. But do you? From what I’ve heard, you’ve been taking after your dear old father lately. I’m so proud.” Niki smirked.

Saruhiko stumbled back and looked away. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re here because I’ve gotten seven hours of sleep this week. You’re here because I’m overworked. You’re here because I forgot to take a pill. You’re not real.”

Niki laughed again, a noise Saruhiko learned to flinch from since childhood. 

“I’m here because you’re alone. I’m here because you get wasted alone on Friday nights. I’m here because you hurt what you love. I’m he—“

“Shut up!” Saruhiko screamed.

A familiar look of amusement fell across Niki’s face.

“He’s mad! He’s mad! He’s mad!” Niki sang.

Saruhiko was shaking and began to feel like he couldn’t breathe. Finally Niki stop singing and looked up.

“I’m running out of time. But we we’re having so much fun! What they say is law I guess,” Niki mused. He looked Saruhiko in the eyes with much less humor.

“At two, the clock will strike. The three ghosts of Christmas will come after its chime. Change, or you suffer the same fate as I,” Niki lifted his shackles and tilted his head, sporting a wide grun, “It’ll be so much fun to play with my monkey when we have forever.”

Slowly, Niki began to fade. Saruhiko listened to his laughter flitter away with him. Finally the room was quiet. Then the lights and television came back on filling the silence with a hum and muffled voices.

Saruhiko decided to abandon his meal and shut off the tv. He needed sleep. That was what he’d spend tomorrow doing— sleeping. He got ready for bed and slipped under the cover.s He checked the time on his phone. It blared 1:45 into the dark room. 

Despite the lack of sleep throughout the week, Saruhiko found it difficult to get to sleep. He tried everything he could to block the experience from before. It wasn’t the first time Saruhiko had imagined his father since his death, but it was definitely the most vivid. What did he even mean by “ghosts of Christmas”? Would he be supposedly meeting some sort of sentient pine tree spirit or Jesus? The tortured beings trampled by the Christmas shopping horde? Suddenly, Saruhiko’s phone alarm went off, playing a song he was all too familiar with. He definitely hadn’t set it. He clicked off the alarm and read the time. 2:00.

For a moment, he held his breath in anticipation. It was silent. Saruhiko could feel relief bleed into his chest. Of course this wasn’t real. To think so was stupid. Believing in the supernatural was idiotic to begin with and to think it’d all be revealed in some sort of soul saving experience was even more so. Then a light began to expand in his room.

Saruhiko instinctively held his hand in front of his face as the light stretched and twisted. Suddenly, he was facing a familiar figure.

“Totsuka?” Saruhiko murmured. 

The figure laughed, “No silly! I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

Not-Totsuka walked over to Saruhiko and held out his hand.

“Time to take a look at what happened in there.” Not-Totsuka tapped Saruhiko head and he flinched. “And back there.” He pointed out the window, open (although surely it hadn’t been before) and showing a dim sunrise. Impossible for two in the morning. 

Not-Totsuka held his hand for Saruhiko to take to which he did— hesitantly. Like that, Saruhiko lifted out of the bed and suspended in the air. He flailed around in panic and a second after Not-Totsuka was pulling him out the open window. He yelped as he looked over the city, much, much too small beneath him. Saruhiko looked up at Not-Totsuka and yelled over the wind.

“Where are we going?” 

Not-Totsuka didn’t answer. They got closer and closer to what Saruhiko was realising was definitely not the sun. Then they were through the light. Saruhiko recognized where they were.

“Why are we here?” Saruhiko asked in mild disgust.

Not-Totsuka looked at him. “Most people would be excited to see their childhood home.”

Not Saruhiko. Definitely not Saruhiko. 

Not-Totsuka hummed. “Well, let’s go in, yes?”

Not yes. But currently Saruhiko was following the Ghost of Christmas Past that looked exactly like an old friend he’d since cut ties with a still talked to on the occasion of meeting on the street and hitting too close to home into the past. So he wasn’t really ready to put up a fight.

They walked in and immediately Saruhiko was hit with anxiety and anger. There was a burnt Christmas tree in the middle of the hallway.

“Missed the best part,” Saruhiko muttered. 

Not-Totsuka smiled and lead him up the stairs. They walked through the lavish but barren hallways until they reached a nearly equally barren room in the middle left of the hall. Nearly, because there was a chair, a futon, a blanket, and an eight year old child in the middle of it. His eyes were tinged pink and he sniffled every so often, but he wasn’t crying. Anymore. He was staring down at a candy cane, twisting it between his fingers and tracing the spinning red lines with his eyes. It was given by a parent volunteer and presumably the school to every student in his class. It was also the only gift that wasn’t blackened with fire by his father. 

Current Saruhiko took a glance down the hallway, looking for the culprit that would undoubtedly come and take the object. Beside him, Not-Totsuka chuckled.

“Do you not remember what happens?” he asked.

Of course he did. “He takes it.”

Not-Totsuka shook his head. “No, he doesn’t.” 

They both looked back into the room and watched little Saruhiko unwrap the candy and bite it before cringing and instead suck on it. Not-Totsuka was right, he didn’t remember this part. 

“You always seem to remember the bad things,” Not-Totsuka said, “But sometimes you actually enjoyed what you were given rather than hide it away afraid it will be taken.”

Saruhiko huffed and watched the scene change into a taller figure and presumably different room since he changed his location every week. This time he was joined by someone that made his heart skip a beat and shoulders tense. He took a step further into the room. Yata Misaki was trying to set a wreath on top if the window. He was struggling, standing on his tiptoes on a chair, something twelve year old Saruhiko must have commented on since twelve year old Misaki was responding to it.

“Yeah, yeah, say all you want but that’s not gonna stop me from making your room less gloomy, Fushimi.” Misaki retorted. 

Young Saruhiko sighed. Both current and older versions knew exactly how gloomy the wreath would become. But still, it didn’t keep young Saruhiko from cracking a small smile at the image of Misaki and his wreath. But older Saruhiko knew better. That, while young Saruhiko thought only one of those things would go down in flames, older Saruhiko knew he’d lose both of them painfully. 

The scene changed once again, and this time they were staring at an empty room. Saruhiko looked up at Not-Totsuka in confusion and then followed him to the window. He looked out and realized that they were looking at fourteen year old Misaki and Saruhiko dragging something through the snow to the bus stop. It was a tree. Saruhiko was saying something to Misaki, presumably that there would be no tree left if he kept dragging it like that, and Misaki shrugged and smiled in response, probably saying something about having the tree at all. Misaki’s mother had given them the gift and Misaki had been so excited. Young Saruhiko must have been too, because he didn’t even take one look at the house that loomed with bad memories of this exact holiday. 

After the two boarded the bus, Not-Totsuka opened the window and jumped out, floating in the air and beckoning Saruhiko to follow. Saruhiko hesitated before getting himself to sit on the window sill. Not-Totsuka pulled him the rest of the way and soon both were flying to a building that Saruhiko had much fonder memories of and into the window of an apartment that had a lot more decorations and smelled of cinnamon and pine. Fifteen year olds Misaki and Saruhiko were eating at the kotatsu that Saruhiko had found and fixed up the month before. They were eating curry and rice.

“Do you put pineapples in everything?” Young Saruhiko sighed. He was just complaining to complain— in truth he really liked the meal.

Misaki must have kicked him from under the kotatsu because Saruhiko was frowning and rubbing his leg.

“Shut up and eat! It’s Christmas ya know, you shouldn’t be so whiny.” Misaki responded.

“It’s not whining,” Saruhiko refuted, “if it’s a genuine concern to how well you understand fruit. And I doubt it’s in the ‘Christmas spirit’ to injure someone Misaki.” 

Misaki scowled and kicked him again. This time current Saruhiko didn’t need to see the reaction to know what had happened, since Misaki had leaned back to gain momentum. 

“I’ll put carrots in it next time,” Misaki threatened. This really did cause Saruhiko to shut up. He hated vegetables. 

Finally, after they finished the meal, Misaki announced they should exchange presents and went into the kitchen where he hid his. Saruhiko slowly got up and crawled onto his bed to get the gift he’d hid under his pillow. It was a watch, the kind that younger kids were.getting from their parents these days that allowed them to call certain numbers. Saruhiko had gotten it to do more than that: to call and get called by anyone and— the best part— play Misaki’s favorite arcade game.

MIsaki returned and they gave each other their gifts. Misaki had given Saruhiko a few kinds of chocolate and a laptop case. Saruhiko teased Misaki about the chocolates being girly which caused Misaki to get red and threaten to take it back. Misaki loved his gift. 

“This is awesome, Saru!” Misaki held the gift up in the air.

Current Saruhiko jumped when he heard Not-Totsuka talk.

“You spent a lot of time on that gift. You must have really cared.” 

Saruhiko shrugged and looked away. He did spent a lot of time on that gift. He did care a lot. But he wasn’t going to talk about it anymore. 

Not-Totsuka tilted his head. “Do you regret spending so much time on it now?”

No. Saruhiko thought immediately. It was everything to remember that smile, those words. He did everything back then to heard the variations of “You’re awesome, Saruhiko” . 

It was why he did everything now to feel that other kind of emotion. The fiery one that was all his. 

He never replied to Not-Totsuka. Suddenly, Saruhiko felt himself falling. He looked up to see Not-Totsuka was above him, smiling as they descended. Where..? 

Saruhiko landed on his back and Not-Totsuka helped him up from the cold snow. Saruhiko looked around to see what his surrounding were. He realized he was outside HOMRA. It was the little cafe he and Misaki worked to make ends meet. It was the little cafe he lost everything to.

Inside he watched Misaki laugh at something Mikoto said. He felt a familiar sense of pain spread across his chest. Saruhiko wanted to scratch off his skin as he stared down the scene. Mikoto was a friend of the owner of Café HOMRA. He was a god amongst the workers of HOMRA and Saruhiko never understood why. Why everyone found him so awe inspiring. He was just a person whose only significant trait was that he was a popular DJ that would go from club to club. But Misaki found him the most amazing person to walk the earth. He wanted to be like him: as popular as him, as successful as him. 

There were lights strung across the cafe and a small tree with ornaments in the corner. Also in the corner was sixteen year old Saruhiko also frowning at Misaki and Mikoto’s interaction. But unlike current Saruhiko, who was fidgeting and on the verge of sneering, the teen’s gaze was blank. In denial. 

“Not a fan?” Not-Totsuka asked casually. 

“Shut up.” Saruhiko spat. It wasn’t as if he’d been welcoming toward the figure this entire experience, but it was the first time he was openly hostile towards it. 

Not-Totsuka was unfazed and spun around to look in the alleyway across the street from the cafe. This was the one part Saruhiko remembered with a clarity. They were standing there in the alley. Seventeen year old Saruhiko stared Misaki in the eyes saying something about leaving cafe HOMRA and moving out. Misaki was upset, asking why? Where was he going? Saruhiko was angry that Misaki was angry. Didn’t he know how badly this hurt? Didn’t he know how much he wanted to cry? 

Now twenty-one year old Saruhiko watched it— the exact moment he realized how to get back that unrelenting emotion, one for his own. A flashback to the moment his father never lost his. To burn it. Burn it all to the ground. In a way so painful, Misaki would never be able to forget it. To forget him.

“Café HOMRA was holding me back,” Seventeen year old Saruhiko suddenly sighed in a tone much different and less apologetic than before.

Misaki— who was close to accepting this fate— suddenly jerked his head back up.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“No one there is going anywhere,” Saruhiko complained, “I was being held down. My new workplace is a little dull, but at least everyone there is actually intelligent, knows what they’re doing. No more losers working part time in order to move out of their mothers basements or,” Saruhiko went for the kill, “drunk delinquents coming in during the middle of a night shift to tell stories about other drunkards.”

Misaki, whose anger had been gaining traction since the start of Saruhiko’s honestly half hearted rant. 

“You asshole! Those people took us in! Mikoto made us one of them.” Misaki growled.

Saruhiko shrugged and gazed off, “I guess, if that’s all you need.”

Misaki spat out several other expletives and even threats and current Saruhiko could practically see the emotions coursing through the teenage version in front of him. Hurt. Excited. Thrilled. And a very small sense of regret. All these emotions would grow with time. Including the regret. More so than current Saruhiko would like to admit.

Not-Totsuka wasn’t smiling anymore.

“What part do you regret most?” he asked. Saruhiko wasn’t sure if it had been so evident on his face that Not-Totsuka noticed or if ghosts had some sort of psychic power. 

When Saruhiko didn’t answer, Not-Totsuka continued.

“Do you regret making an enemy out of him? Or do you regret losing him as a friend?” Not-Totsuka prompted.

“It wasn’t my choice to lose him. He left on his own.” Saruhiko deflected.

“Then do you regret not making him stay?” Totsuka asked.

Saruhiko grit his teeth, “I stopped being good enough for him.”

“Was it that you weren’t good enough or was it that you refused to say the one thing that could make him stay?”

“He wouldn’t have stayed!” Saruhiko yelled, “He would have left and he would have left for good! He would’ve been disgusted! All I would have gotten from him is pity.” 

Saruhiko choked, “If you think I didn’t go over all the options, you’re wrong.”

“But it sounds like,” Not-Totsuka said, “You didn’t go over the part where he could have stayed.”

Saruhiko unclenched his fists and looked down. No such option existed.

“Stop. I want to stop.” he whispered.

Not-Totsuka sighed, “These are the shadows of things that have been. That they are what they are, so please, don’t blame me.”

“Go away!” Saruhiko shouted. Suddenly the world was spinning, around and around until he was back in his room.

The darkness welcomed him, and he welcomed it. His heavy breathing filled the room and he began to calm down. Whether or not this was a dream or hallucination didn’t matter. This was hell. 

Slowly, Saruhiko stood up. He grabbed his phone from the bed and looked at the time in shock. 1:59 it read.

Impossible. Saruhiko thought. 

He sat down on the bed and watched his phone intently. As it had before, the time changed to 2:00 and the phone alarm went off with the same song. It was his and Misaki’s song. He could admit that now. They’d share the earbuds and listen to it on repeat all the time. He loved and hated that song. He clicked off and tilted back up his head to see the room. Already there was… 

“Let me guess, you’re not Munakata?” Saruhiko sighed. 

“That would be correct, Fushimi,” Not-Munakata replied, “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

Saruhiko stood up.

“Are we flying?” he asked only half sarcastically.

Not-Munakata laughed, “I’d say not. How about we go through here.”

A door that was definitely not a part of Saruhiko’s apartment appeared out of thin air. It opened up to revealed the break room, of his office, filled with his co workers. Saruhiko recognized it as the office party he’d formly declined to go to earlier that day.

Saruhiko followed Not-Munakata through. 

“I worry about him,” Awashima confided in Akiyama. “I mean, he’s always by himself. He barely talks to anyone.”

“He’s just like that,” Akiyama assured, “It’s not that he dislikes everyone. He just wants to be alone.”

“But does he?” Awashima asked, “He has terrifying habits. One time I watched him drink the ink out of a red pen. I’m still in shock every time I think about it.”

Saruhiko’s face flushed. Shit. He didn’t think anyone had noticed. It’d been… during a dip in his emotions.

Akiyama raised his eyebrows at this. Then he looked down at his plate and picked up a cookie.

“I’m not saying that he’s… alright. I’m just saying there’s not much we can do to change it.” Akiyama replied.

Awashima shook her head, “Maybe I should say to someone in command that he’s ‘at risk’. They might require him to get some sort of help.”

Akayama jolted. “That’s not a good idea at all! Besides, what would you say, he watched him eat a pen?”

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever seen him eat,” Awashima responded. “And I’ve watched him drink plenty. I’d take the bet that he was the one who took that bottle of missing wine.”

He did not. Saruhiko scowled.

Akiyama let out a deep breath, “Listen, everyone here wants to help him but you have to get to the point where you realize the only one that can help Saruhiko is Saruhiko.”

Awashima leaned back into her chair, “Saruhiko’s so young with so much potential. It’s what I’ve thought since he’s joined. But I’m afraid we’re going to lose him to himself.”

Akiyama shrugged apologetically and stood up.

“I’m going to get some more food.”

Awashima followed suit.

When the scene didn’t change, Saruhiko looked over at Not-Munakata. 

“It’s a waste of time if we’re going to listen to my co workers talk about how concerned they are. I know they are; it’s obvious.”

Not-Munakata turned to look at Saruhiko. Or, as Saruhiko was starting to realize, past.

“That’s not quite it.”

Saruhiko turned to see what he was looking at. It was real Munakata talking on the phone. Saruhiko walked closer to hear.

“I’ll try to invite him,” real Munakata was responding.

Someone said something on the other end.

“Yes, I do agree, but perhaps there will be a change of heart.”

More listening.

“Correct, however… Awashima has come into my office a lot lately about his… habits. This wouldn’t have to do with this Yata Misaki would it?”

“Ah,” real Munakata began to chuckle, “I see… well, then maybe the Christmas spirit will fix that.” 

Then Saruhiko realized he could hear what was being said, and who by, as he was now in Café HOMRA, watching Kusanagi by the phone.

“Be careful about that, alright? Some days I can’t tell if trying to guide Saruhiko in the right direction is the right thing to do. Sometimes, it just makes things worse. He’s the kinda person you have to handle with care, ya know?” Kusanagi glanced over at a group of people starting to make a scene, “I gotta go, see ya tomorrow Munakata. I’ll tell MIkoto you said hi.”

Saruhiko blinked and looked over at the Not-Munakata next to him.

“… and?” he drawled.

Not-Munakata walked over to the area by the phone that Kusanagi vacated.

“So many people are concerned for your well being. Even the people you’ve sworn out of your life. Yet you refuse to change, to let anyone in again.” Not-Munakata picked up a note that was folded up presumably because it had already served its use. He uncrumpled it and handed it to Saruhiko.

It read Pick up dumb monkey’s gift.. The sentiment didn’t surprise Saruhiko. Every year, Misaki would get him some sort of present, give it to Kusanagi to give to Awashima to give to him. What was surprising was that, despite what this note implied, Saruhiko hadn’t received a gift this year. Was he that confident Saruhiko was going to Café HOMRA’s celebration this year?

“Perhaps,” Not-Munakata supplied, “he wanted to give it to you in person.”

Saruhiko threw the note back where Not-Munakata found it. 

“It would be a waste of time. I’d just get him to throw it out.” Saruhiko growled, “He knows that.”

Not-Munakata remained indifferent, “Maybe he knows more than you think.”

Saruhiko stiffened and ignored the comment.

“Are we done here? Can I get to the next ghost and get this over with?” he bit out.

Not-Munakata was oddly amused by this.

“I suppose so. This way.” 

The two walked through another newly crafted doorway into a room of seemingly infinite darkness. It was fine. Saruhiko had long overcome the fear of something as consistent as the dark. Munakata wasn’t there anymore, but before Saruhiko could relish in being alone, a figure appeared in the distance, getting closer and closer. Finally appeared the last person on this planet that he would want to see.

Suoh Mikoto.

Or more so Not-Mikoto but that made absolutely nothing better.

“And… you are?” Saruhiko asked weakly.

Not-Mikoto pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and breathed out the smoke.

“Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.”

Saruhiko waited for more, only to get none.

“Are we… going?”

Not-Mikoto took another drag. 

“Ehh, yeah sure. But are you sure you want to go?”

Yes. Definitely. Anything to get this over with.

Saruhiko nodded and the darkness of the room faded into something else. Café HOMRA, he recognized.

There, alone at a table in fading light, was Yata Misaki. He got a few pitiful glances thrown his way by the other employees, but was left by himself. Saruhiko walked closer and, knowing he couldn’t see him, sat down across from him. Kusanagi eventually joined them— him, Misaki.

“So you’re going to mope around all day, huh?” 

Misaki scowled, “Cut me some slack. I just wanna think.”

“Thinking’s not gonna change what’s happened. It’s all the past now.”

Saruhiko could hear Not-Totsuka’s words echo in his mind. “These are the shadows of things that have been. That they are what they are…” He wondered what Misaki could regret not changing.

Misaki leaned farther back in the chair and looked down at the wooden table.

“I know, but it’s kinda nice to pretend I could’ve. Even just for a little bit, ya know? Like it sucks afterward, because you know you didn’t, but I like to have some control over it for a second.” Misaki traced circles into the wood.

Kusanagi sighed. Totsuka walked over to join the two. 

“C’mon Kusanagi. Don’t harass him about it. How about after we finish closing up shop we all go visit him, okay?”

Saruhiko got a strange feeling from this. Visit who?

Not-Mikoto stalked up to the table and pointed with his head to the door. They were leaving to someplace. Saruhiko took another look at Misaki and reluctantly made his way over to the door. Saruhiko followed Not-Mikoto through the streets until finally they arrived at the cemetery. Then it fully dawned on Saruhiko what this was all about. He was lead over to a gravestone that read Fushimi Saruhiko. 

“So I finally got the guts to do it, huh?” Saruhiko muttered.

Not-Mikoto let out a half laugh. His real counterpart always let out half laughs. The day he heard Mikoto’s full laugh would probably be the last day of his life. 

“So you still wanna die, huh? Even after everything Reisi showed you.” Not-Mikoto tapped on the gravestone, “It’s always refreshing when people mean what they say. I mean, it’s gotta be hard to be that selfish.”

Saruhiko was about to retort when he heard a voice behind him echo the complaint.

“How selfish are you, Saru?” Misaki sighed.

Saruhiko spun around the see him, holding a single flower. A violet. 

“You just had to have it your way, huh? You couldn’t just let people care about you without throwing it back at them. I never got to know what your problem was because of you.” Misaki kicked at the dirt on the gravestone. “I know you’re not happy. You never let yourself be happy, why would now be different? Why couldn’t you just stay alive long enough to figure out that all anyone wanted for you was to be happy? That I wanted you to be happy!”

Misaki began to tear up, and his breath got sporadic.

“You know the worst part asshole? Everyone else got to go around thinking, ‘what a waste, he had so much potential’. I’m the only one in the whole world who knows it wasn’t potential it was fucking there and you were just being fucking stupid about it!”

Misaki threw the flower on the grave.

“I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate that you pretended to be like you father when you should’ve known you weren’t. You actually loved, you now? You weren’t your old man in any way. You didn’t hurt people because you wanted them to hurt, you did it because you’re a dumb kid that didn’t know what to do with love.”

Saruhiko’s eyes widened at the words. Misaki wiped at the tears on his face. Two stared at each other— one of them unknowingly. Finally Misaki left the cemetery, escorted out by Tartara and Kusanagi. Saruhiko watched him until he was entirely out of view.

Not-Mikoto walked in front of him, lighting another cigarette.

“You still wanna kill yourself kid? Fine. But the shackles you recieve in death aren’t punishment, they’re just yours. They’re what kept you from being happy, they’re what you wore to keep you down in life and you get to stare at them in death.” Not-Mikoto explained, “You’re not afraid of reaping what you sow, I know that. But you’re afraid of your past, what you can’t change. You’re your own jailer.”

Saruhiko stared past him, desperately trying to find Misaki again in the distance, but he couldn’t. He looked behind him, at his name etched in stone and sat down on the cold ground. He picked up the flower and twisted it in his hands. The petals were wilting, wilting faster than they should, falling over his hands as brown petals. Saruhiko set the stem down and stared up at Not-Mikoto’s hovering figure.

“Is this it?” he finally whispered, “Are we done now?”

Not-Mikoto shrugged, “That’s up to you. You can go back to your little apartment, if that’s what you mean. But whether or not you free yourself, learn from this, is your choice.

And like that, Saruhiko was sitting on his bed. His room was dark. Saruhiko looked down at the phone lit up next to him and the clock read 2:01. He set his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Then he left his bed for Saruhiko’s work table, littered with gadgets he played with on and off with a renewed inspiration.

 

Morning came and Saruhiko didn’t want to leave the bed he barely had for half an hour. Still, he did. He got dressed, made coffee, and made his walk down a familiar route to an all too familiar place. 

Café HOMRA’s lights were on, despite the fact that they weren’t really visible in daylight. The sign said closed, but it didn’t mean much to everyone that frequented HOMRA. Saruhiko looked through the window at familiar faced he hadn’t want to see again, yet here he was. His eyes fell on Munakata, smiling and chatting with Mikoto in the corner. Saruhiko wasn’t surprised exactly, but he did question his boss’s life choices a fair amount.

Then Saruhiko spotted Misaki, being his loud self at the center of the cafe. Saruhiko let himself soak in the warm feeling of watching Misaki’s happiness. Then he took a deep breath and continued his walk into the cafe.

When he first arrived, it was like anyone else had entered. Saruhiko decided the safest choice was to walk towards Munakata, and the people in his path slowly got more and more quiet as he made his way. Munakata noticed Saruhiko and waved. 

“So you did decide to come. A Christmas miracle is it?”

Definitely not a fucking miracle, Saruhiko thought.

Kusanagi looked over at him in mild shock and Awashima quickly copied the look. Totsuka pushed over.

“Fushimi! So glad you could make it. Yata has a—“ Tatara was cut off.

“I have nothing! Don’t…” Misaki scowled at Tatara’s laughing frame.

Saruhiko straightened his shoulders and looked at Misaki without really thinking, for the first time in a while. Just experiencing. 

“You have nothing?” Saruhiko questioned, “Not unusual for you, I guess.”

Misaki was about to respond in some sort of hot headed way that admittedly still would have satisfied Saruhiko, but instead had a poorly wrapped gift tossed at him.

Misaki looked down at the gift and up at Saruhiko in confusion. 

“What?” he gaped. 

Saruhiko merely shrugged.

Misaki looked at all the faces watching him and slowly unwrapped the gift. It was a plain box underneath. Then he opened it to reveal a watch. It was obviously newer than his old one. Would work a lot better to. The game on the watch was still hopefully Misaki’s favorite game, but it had one more accessory. Their song.

Misaki played around with a functions for a little bit before laughing in a mixture of joy and disbelief before looking up at Saruhiko in a way that made Saruhiko’s heart jump to his throat.

“You…” Misaki laughed, “You made this?”

Misaki looked back down and set the gift on the counter before darting into the backroom.

“So much for having nothing,” Totsuka remarked. 

He returned with a neat package labeled: to: Asshole from: Yata. That was special, Saruhiko knew, because the years before had been anonymous despite Awashima consistently telling him who’d sent the gift from the years before. This time, Misaki owned up to the gift even before he knew Saruhiko would be coming.

Saruhiko took the gift and unwrapped it. It was a video game. Misaki’s favorite video game. Saruhiko looked up at him, eyebrow raised.

Misaki shrugged, “Figured I’d at least try.”

Saruhiko snorted. The video game was more than a gift. It was a self invitation. 

“Classic Misaki, always getting people the gifts he wants rather than what they want.” Saruhiko pretended, perhaps poorly on purpose, to be annoyed. Because it was very much what he wanted.

Misaki grinned, “That’s too bad for you, monkey. I gave you the gift so you just gotta take it.”

Saruhiko looked at the game, “A waste really. I’m not going to do anything with it.”

“Then I guess I gotta come break it in sometime.”

“…I guess so.”


End file.
